With Hell Dripping from His Wings
by Pockets Full of Sunshine
Summary: Sam remembers certain secrets about Castiel from his time with Lucifer in his head and feels the need to ask. Cas, apparently, is much more than the rebellious Angel of Thursday. - Companion piece to "Bluest of Blue Eyes."


Just a little companion piece to "Bluest of Blue Eyes."

Disclaimer: only own what you don't recognize.

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"With Hell Dripping from His Wings"

Sam's memory is spotty at best, so Castiel is genuinely surprised he remembers something even his older had seemed to have forgotten.

"Did Lucifer really name you?"

Dean and Bobby are here too and he has a feeling the youngest Winchester said it without thinking. For a moment he doesn't - _can't _- answer, focusing on flipping through an ancient scripture he was helping to translate. If he remembers everything in its entirety one day, Sam will be able to speak Enochian too but never read it. "Yes," he answers, making an active effort not to look at them. The three are not particularly fond of his brothers and sisters and though he hates to admit it, they have good reason.

Dean says, "Lucifer _named _you?" and he supposes that it really is a tad surprising. Most angels don't know that, including Balthazar, Anna, and Rachael.

"Among other things," he says. The Winchesters consider him family and family is supposed to tell each other truth on occasion, he's learned. The brothers' constant, damaging lies and the incident with his vessel has proved that enough.

Almost warily, Bobby asks, "What other things?"

At least this does not seem to lessen their trust in him, he supposes. His feelings may have dulled over the time with the help of his more conventional training, but something about this war with Raphael and his second trip to Hell is bringing back some old memories. "He raised me." Again, their surprise is evident. Castiel finds it interesting Sam seems more sad than anything else. "Michael and Gabriel too. Or until my brother Fell, at least."

He feels the Winchesters' thoughts, their connection between Gabriel's abandonment and Lucifer and now Michael's decent to the death of a parental figure. That is one way to put it. Bobby Singer killed his own father though, so what he aquatints is a tad different.

No one knows exactly how to answer that, it seems. "Man, I'm sorry," Dean says eventually and Castiel appreciates how sincere it is. "That Apocalypse must've been - Why didn't you say anything?"

Now he turns, feeling weak for not facing them. "I did not consider it important at the time." It hurt, of course, witnessing the ones who named him tear themselves apart. To see Gabriel after years since the abandonment, only to be banished until his older brother found free time enough to promise to never leave him again. To finally speak to Michael for the first time since he cast his feather in Hell and to find the sole purpose of the conversation was to ask if he'd reclaimed it. To be killed by Lucifer not once but _twice_ and then, later, to watch him torment poor Sam as Castiel pulled him from his brother's grasp.

Suddenly, the burn on his Grace hurts again and Hell's stains make his wings feel heavy.

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It's Sam, naturally, who finds him alone first. Normally this sort of situation would be instigated by Dean, but Castiel understands this is a slightly different matter. He's called down through a prayer.

"You wished to see me?" he asks, landing in the latest motel room located in some town in the small state of Rhode Island. Sam appears shaken and he can feel the first few trickles of the lost year and a half returning. He hopes quite foolishly that the remembrance of Hell perhaps never comes back.

The boy leans against the metal grating, looking everywhere but him. "You probably don't want to hear this, Cas," he says, voice halting, "but uh, I think you should know the final reason I was able to take over was because he, well, I don't really know how to explain it."

Castiel is not entirely sure how to feel about this for it means it means his older brother still loves him. Depending on how one looks at that, it means this either saved the world or he's the reason why Lucifer died for the second time. He decides to just be happy he helped save the world. "Thank you, Sam," he tells him uncertainly, "for letting me know. I was not aware."

Sam picks at the decaying white paint, breaking off little chips with bitten fingernails. "Are you really the youngest angel?" he says.

This is something he wanted to avoid his charges discovering; by angel standards, he is still not considered much older than a fledgling. It's always been a fact of slight embarrassment and he knows that Dean would make fun of him relentlessly if he ever found out. "I am," he answers. "I suppose that's why they thought I was special rather than like everybody else. I am that, too."

His brothers and sisters have a tendency, Castiel finds, to tilt their heads ever so slightly to one side and he thinks it interesting that it's a habit Sam has picked up on. "You're the youngest angel currently fighting the oldest one left," he says, "You've stopped the Apocalypse and pulled two people out of Hell. I think that means you count as special."

There's something the boy is holding back, too, and though it's what he would call an invasion of privacy, Castiel prods around in his mind for a moment. It doesn't take long as it's on the forefront of his thought. He finds the remnants of brother's anger towards the Fallen Angel Azazel and the image of a smiling fledgling standing on what is now Mount Everest, clutching on to Lucifer's hand. He pulls back before he dig further, afraid what what he'll find.

The decision comes spontaneously and without thought. Lightning flashes through the air, momentarily illuminating the shadow of his wings. Sam, whose body remembers the feelings of wings, and who has been to Hell in a way no other mortal has, sees something that Dean had missed those few years earlier. His eyes widen in recognition and surprise that diving into Perdition is not as simple as Castiel made it sound.

"That's -"

A call for help comes in from Balthazar. "I am required elsewhere," he says, interrupting his friend. "We will see each other soon."

Then he flies away and leaves Sam Winchester alone.

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Second is Dean, naturally. He likes Dean despite his disrespectful attitude and always has. It has nothing to with destiny or the sort but because he (along with his brother, of course, and Bobby inevitably) is there in a way that angels cannot comprehend and Castiel once knew. Maybe that is why he is Michael one true vessel - not simply because he is the caring older brother with a sibling who betrays him but because they are so alike in personality, too.

Well, except for Dean never in an eternity even _thinking _about killing his Sam, but the rest is similar enough.

His friend asks, "So, how you holding up, Cas?"

Not _how are you _or _are you okay_, but a question under the assumption that he is not, in fact, perfectly fine. Normal. Abusing his mastery of apathy. "I'm well," he answers. "I must go back to Heaven, though, Dean, there's a -"

"Screw the war!" And this is what he means. Disrespectful. Despite his understanding, there is much he cannot at the same time. "I just want an honest answer because dammit, can't someone just tell the fucking truth around here for once?"

He blinks, taken aback. This is about more than just him, then. Sam too, presumably because everything is about Sam. Possibly Bobby too and maybe even the rest of humanity. The Winchesters love with the capacity of an archangel, or at least as they were before his family became too convoluted to properly function. Himself included.

"I'm 'holding up' as you like to put it," he insists, "but I'm a little preoccupied with Raphael trying to take Father's -"

"You mean Michael's? Do you even know which one you're talking about anymore?" Castiel falls silent, then. "Yeah, I thought as much."

"Don't assume you know -"

"This is probably about the only thing that I _do _understand, Cas," Dean interrupts and perhaps he is correct. "Your family is fucked, but you know what? Mine is too. Apparently I'm like Michael and Sam's like Lucifer or whatever and honestly, I can't even imagine what it would be like for a younger sibling to watch our bullshit twenty-four seven."

Though he knows it's a bad idea, he wants to tell his friend that it was even more horrible than he thinks it is. Still, it really he understands the negative impact it would have, so he says nothing at all. Instead he tells him, "It's been a long time. There were - are - more important matters to attend to."

Dean crosses his arms, leaning back against Bobby's kitchen counter. "Look, I hate these girly moments as much as you do," he says, "but you're really starting to worry me. I knew there was something a little off about your fight with Raphael."

_Raphael_. Even the sound of the name makes him angry, which is much worse than he used to be. The more time he spends with the Winchesters, the stronger his feelings are and maybe that is why he keeps himself around them so often; they remind him of the days before he'd forgotten free will. "Off?" he repeats. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that according to Sam, you're Heaven's baby. Literally. But you're the only one with enough balls to go after Raphael? And you haven't died?" Teaching angels free will is like teaching poetry to fish. _Mustn't step on that fish, Cassie_, Gabriel told him. "Yeah, so either I'm crazy or that sounds like something personal."

Angels often say that humans are ignorant. Castiel has learned that certain ones are very intuitive. Dangerously so, even. He lowers his head, oddly ashamed to have been understood so easily. He often feels this way around his friends. "Lucifer, Gabriel, even Michael - most of us do not grow up with the idea of 'individual thought' until we're much older. I could have been thrown away from the beginning, but they held on. They created my name, all three of them. Some of my brothers and sister are only on Raphael's side because I have a close affiliation with the devil."

He feels exhausted. Not only from the constant fighting he faces in Heaven, but also for speaking so much at once. Dean is not aware, but he is one of the quietest among his siblings and rarely will talk about himself. Partially because no one will listen.

Dean asks, "So what happened? I mean, you were a member of the typical garrison or whatever, right?"

They are beginning to tread on personal ground that makes him feel, as humans say, awkward. "Gabriel left, Lucifer Fell, Michael had duties to attend to," he answers. "I had to grow up. So I was put in the garrison and reminded of my place, given my title. Raphael only believes me worthy of attention because I received what you would call 'special treatment.'"

"Archangel-level special treatment." Castiel nods. "Well, uh, if you ever think of something we can do to help, just ask. We all want you here, you know? And...I don't really think they'd want you dead either."

He appreciates the sentiment and tries a very small smile. He's spent years trying to forget the earliest part of his existence, but it's becoming harder now. Sam discovering certain truth about him has not made it any simpler. "For now you should focusing on Eve," he says, "but I will remember that."

Then his friend smiles, gentle and warm, and he really should be going back to Heaven. Instead he spares an hour for his friends, watching the television with them as they explain a game he doesn't understand.

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The boys are exhausted, asleep in real beds upstairs until tomorrow when they will go after Eve, and Castiel is lying on the couch, the time travel and his friend's betrayal marring his body too much move just yet. Bobby, feeling guilty for his soul not giving enough help apparently, pulls up a seat next to him. He is not sure when it happened, but at some point he joined the Winchesters in this man's feelings of unrelated fatherhood. He wonders if Bobby ever considers how much older he is, or maybe he can't see past Castiel's obvious social failings, human or otherwise.

They do make him seem rather young, he supposes.

"Well, I'm not really an expert on angels," Bobby says, "but is there anything I can do for you, Cas?"

"No," he answers, lightly touching the bloodstain on his shirt. The wound is healing, but slow-going. It reminds him of how he burned his hand pulling Dean from Hell. "If I had not needed to bring back the boys, I would have been better."

With a sigh, the other man says, "Yeah, that's just like 'em, i'n'it?"

"They do tend to attract trouble, yes."

Bobby Singer has expressive eyes not at all like the gruff front he uses to fool the world. Dean is the same and no one more so than Sam whose gaze shows hellfire from certain angles. "Well from the state of you, I think it's safe to say they aren't the only ones."

"I suppose that trouble finds me too." As it was meant to be, he thinks. Since he is the youngest of the angels, he should small and unimportant but the fate he was given and fought against made that impossible. "Within an hour or so, I will be well enough to return and fight."

Almost cautiously, Bobby says, "If you need a breather, my house is always open for you. You know the boys and I are here to fight, even if they are idjits."

The other day he was referred to as an idjit too, which, despite its derogatory nature, is supposed to be somewhat affectionate. He was accepted into this small group with open arms when he never deserved it in the first place.

He nearly spills his secret right there, releases the shame that he's been hiding, but he stops himself. Barely. What comes out instead is, "You know who Azazel is, correct?'

A knot of negativity flits across Bobby's soul. "Yes," he answers tensely. "What does he have to with anything?"

"Azazel was an angel once." He is unsure why he's doing this, unloading a dark blot of his past onto this man. On the rare occasion he does do this, it will be to Dean, but this is something he has never said and the last people who will want to hear this are the Winchesters. "He Fell not long after Lucifer. Before his Grace was stripped away, he was my first garrison leader."

Something in the man's expression softens. "Did he -" he begins to ask, but Castiel never wants to hear the words spoken aloud, so he ends the question with a nod. "Well, Cas, the offer extends to you too. If you ever need to talk, you know where I'll be. Here, as always."

He really has done nothing to deserve this, but a very not angelic, selfish part of him is terribly relieved that it happened anyway.

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Hope you enjoyed. :) If you haven't do so, the story makes more sense if you read "Bluest of Blue Eyes" too. Please review!


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